Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, Vol. 38, December 12, 1930

Dec. 12 –

          How can I get out of this slough?  Everything I attempt is useless.

          A bitterly raw, damp December day – Sketching out by the French Road Bridge – a raw wind sweeping out of the southwest driving loose indefinite low-hanging clouds before it – the fields below the bridge slope are rich dull ochre, vandyke and sienna – to the northeast  a few scrawny apple trees relieving the grassy waste – a half-dozen crows scattered in the trees – one stirs itself and with a hoarse cry flies to another tree, and all at once it came over me how much I loved today – all the dour qualities of the sky and earth, the raw wet wind driving a fine mist thru the air – the glistening road, and the black iron bridge – above all the black crows perching sullenly on the dark dead apple trees – Once a monoplane flew north overhead, like a great gray phantom.  P.M. at twilight – for walk to bridge again – pause to make additional studies – the huge pyramidal embankment supporting the bridge end fascinated me.  While I was drawing, a light came from behind growing rapidly brighter – I turned – a locomotive pulling a train of freight cars was gliding almost noiselessly on the track by which I was standing – in the half light, with its spurting steam and smoke it had a marvelously fearful appearance – shortly after a second came along  -